The baby’s crying.

February, 2006.

11:30pm, so tired but I can’t sleep. It’s not because I don’t want to, that’s for damn sure.  If I had it my way I would have jumped into bed as soon as I got home from work this evening. But no, instead I had to pick up the baby from daycare, feed her dinner, give her a bath and put her to bed. I can hear her in our bedroom, making little sleeping sounds. If only she could know how much I hate hearing them on nights like tonight. It’s just a painful reminder that I literally live to care for her. That my entire world revolves around her.

I can’t help feeling bitter sometimes… on top of feeling sorry for myself. I am in one hateful ass mood. It would be awesome if I could go to the liquor store and grab a bottle of relief… if only I was 21. One more year and I won’t have to invite people over that I don’t even like just so I can get something to fucking drink. It’s a slap in the face to look out the window and see all these stupid ass college kids walking back to their apartments drunk as shit coming from the bar. Did the family housing really have to be right HERE? Next to the bar and the railroad tracks?

I hate you too, UD.

The laundry hamper’s overflowing and I can’t even do that tonight. I don’t have anymore quarters and I can’t leave the baby alone to walk down to the building with the laundry room. At least I’m on the first floor so I can go out to smoke without feeling like I’ve abandoned my kid. If I couldn’t do that, I think I would die. It’s the only thing that gets me through these nights anymore. That little 5 minute break.

I fucking hate writing papers. Why does any of this even matter anyway? I have three years of this and I don’t think I’m going to even make it through this first semester back. I must have been out of my goddamn mind taking 5 classes right off the bat. Wouldn’t be so bad if I didn’t have to work 20 hours a week but I don’t exactly have a rich Mommy & Daddy offering their credit cards to lighten the load, do I? No. I don’t.

All I have is this kid who NEEDS shit, lots of shit, all the time. And food stamps that I can never quite get to cover all of the food we need and this stupid ass welfare check that barely pays my cell bill and gas. So I take my unhappy ass to work and I sit there, working. Like I have nothing better to do.

Like I don’t have 100 pages of a textbook to read, a 5 page paper to write, 2 article reviews to do in Spanish and a hard ass exam to study for the next day. Like I don’t have a sink full of dirty bottles and nipples, a pile of laundry that is most likely a fire hazard at this point, and dirt covering every inch of my [460sq ft] apartment. Like I don’t have to raise a kid, or cook food for myself. Like I don’t need to sleep.

Who needs sleep anyway? Apparently I don’t. Cause I keep pulling these late nights and early mornings and I guess I’m still here. Although I don’t really know why. I’d much rather dump this bullshit and just get a full time job. But then I’d have to find somewhere else to live… and that’s how I got stuck here in the first place. Fuck.

I’ll just smoke one more cigarette… then I’ll finish this reading. If I don’t I’ll pass out with the book in my lap sleeping in this uncomfortable ass University provided “couch” again, with nothing done. Then I’ll have to skip my first class tomorrow just to save face for the others. I can’t do that again this week.

Maybe I’ll send a text to whatshisface while I’m out there to see if he’s up for drinking Friday night… at least then I can put off the other shit until Saturday. I wish I could put it all off forever.

Fuck, the baby’s crying.

I guess it ALL has to wait now.


2 thoughts on “The baby’s crying.

  1. I appreciate it Bitter Ben… but I’m still pretty bitter. I figured out that writing from the point of view of myself, back then, makes it easier to write about. On my last blog I wrote a whole series of posts looking back at it, and it felt dirty. Not quite right. I want the readers of this blog to know where I came from… I think I found a good way to do it. 2006 was a long time ago, I’ve got lots more stories to tell. Luckily, we’re both still here, alive and well :) so the ending is happy at least!

  2. Wow, painful. Reminds me of the Shawshank Redemption. Like how he crawled through 500 yards of sewage to his freedom and made it out clean to the other side. You have a really reason to be bitter, but you aren’t for some reason. Mad respect for you.

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